Paying Respects
by MissNerdyWings
Summary: Merlin visits the Lake of Avalon on the anniversary of Arthur's death and thinks back on his long life. He recalls his many journeys, the people he's met, and the things he's done. Oneshot. Hinted Merthur.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Mumford and Sons, the Beatles, or Merlin. I love hearing what you guys think, so feel free to leave a review. Thanks and enjoy.**

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A young man sat on the shore of the lake. Well, he was sitting on the hood of his car, but the car was at the shore. He wore a tattered red scarf and a blue t-shirt with dark jeans. The rising sun reflected in his aviators and made his black hair look almost purple for a moment. He shifted, adjusting the leather jacket around his narrow shoulders, popping an ear-bud in his right ear. Today he wore the face that he'd worn the last time he'd stepped in that lake. It was his favorite face. Each time he looked in the mirror it brought back vivid memories that he swore could have taken place the day before.

The sunrise was beautiful today, rich with vibrant colors and hues.

Another day of his seemingly eternal life was beginning.

He had stopped aging long ago. He had stayed in his young body, but most of the time he looked like an old man to keep attention away from himself. Usually at this time, he would be wandering by the lake on his morning walk, looking like any other scraggly old man with a long white beard, hiking across the countryside for no apparent reason.

But today was a special day. Today was an anniversary. He had come to pay his respects to his best friend, his brother. For today was the day of his death.

"How long has it been?" the man mused, rubbing his smooth chin, not accustomed to his lack of beard. He remembered watching Camelot rise and fall from afar, all his friends growing old and dying. He watched civilizations fall, and new ones be reborn from the ashes. He'd traveled the world, seen every nook and cranny he could before he felt the need to come home again, to check on the lake.

Everyday he'd check the smooth waters. He could stand at the shore for hours, searching for any sign of change of something, anything, coming to pass.

And everyday, nothing happened. Everyday was the same. His friend still had not returned to him.

The man refused to lose hope, though. It burned inside him like a constant hearth, keeping him strong and comforted. He had begun recording his journeys awhile back, writing down everything he saw and felt. He recalled the days of his youth and wrote those down, too. In the home he'd built himself in the woods, notebooks were stacked to the ceiling from every era. Not to mention the books, the potions, the herbs. Although the world had changed, the man still fell into old habits, always preferring a jumble of roots and berries from the woods over a cheeseburger.  
"Far too long to count," the man finally decided. "I should stop counting. It gets so tiresome."

The man cleared his throat, chiding himself in his mind. Even if he thought no one could hear him, he had to pretend like they always could. He could never slip up and fall into his old tongue. He had to keep up with the world.

The man took a deep breath. The sun was almost completely risen. The rays of light warmed his pale skin. As the sunlight caressed his skin, he repeated the same sentences he'd been saying for centuries, to make sure he never forgot who he was, and what he was meant to do.

"My name is Merlin," he whispered, eyes scrunched shut in concentration as he recalled the memories of his childhood, making sure every last detail was in place. He remembered his mother's face, his friend's laughs as they ran through his village, Ealdor. "I was a servant to Prince, well, King, Arthur. I still am." He visualized Arthur Pendragon's face now, visualizing his every feature, down to the number of eyelashes. He saw their many adventures together, and a sad smile breached his face. "Arthur was k-killed." Even after all these years, Merlin still stumbled when he spoke about Arthur, his throat closing up and his eyes pricking with tears. "But he's going to come back. He will rise again when the time is right. It is my duty to watch over to him, to make sure his return is safe. I have traveled the world in search of answers and have learned much. I have made sure the legacy of Arthur Pendragon and his Knights will never die, that it will stand the test of time. No one will be forgotten."

Merlin took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. He took a small notebook from inside his jacket along with a stubby pencil. He began to draw, the pencil flying over the page with gentle precision. Merlin had become quite the artist and the sketch was finished in minutes. It was the same sketch he'd been drawing since that horrible day so long ago. Over the years it had grown more refined and now he practically had it perfected.

Arthur Pendragon grinned at him from the pages of the notebook. His eyes were bright with laughter, his face young and filled with joy. His hair brushed his eyelashes and his chain mail glinted like a summer sun was shining down on it. Had Merlin remembered his colored pencils, Arthur's eyes would be the color of the summer sky, blue without a cloud in sight.

He went back with his pencil once more, adjusting Arthur's smile, making sure it reached his eyes. It was Merlin's favorite smile of Arthur's. It was before everything went wrong, when everyone was happy, still friends, death and despair far from their minds.

It was the Arthur that Merlin loved most, that he remembered as his best friend and his brother, even if he was a prat sometimes.

"Come home soon," Merlin whispered, running his fingers along the paper. He allowed himself one last look, then stuffed the notebook back in his jacket pocket. He hopped off the hood of the car, deciding it was a special day, and that he should play his music as loud as he liked. He slid into the driver's seat, turning the key. The engine hummed to life.

Cars. After all this time they still amazed him. He wished they could have made them sooner.

Merlin flipped on the stereo and plugged his iPod into it. He scrolled through his music, finally selecting his favorite song.

Merlin hopped out of the driver's seat again, the music filling the morning air. Although the warlock preferred violin, he couldn't deny his passion for piano and guitar. He especially loved the Beatles (They'd been a crazy group of guys to hang out with) and the song that was playing spoke to him in a way that he could never have imagined.

"Let it be," Merlin sang softly. He had moved closer to the lake, his feet almost touching the murky water. As the song continued, Merlin's singing grew louder, until his baritone voice overpowered the song itself, filling the chilly air with song. He closed his eyes, diaphragm buzzing in his chest, pouring his heart into the words. He thought about his journeys. He remembered the two men who changed Fate, the odd man in the bow tie with the blue telephone box that radiated power, the sad army doctor without a friend, the red-headed wizards who'd exclaimed: "Merlin's pants!" when they'd dropped their things in a train station (causing Merlin to bust up laughing and rush over to help), the pretty blond girl with stormy eyes in search of a lost friend, and thousands of others. He remembered every face he'd ever seen. He'd called himself a million names, had gone through history under every alias and face possible. His name, whether a false one or his real one, was splattered across the pages of history books around the globe. He'd kept the legend of King Arthur rich and popular, making sure no one forgot, even if they thought it was no more than a story. He'd appeared in movies and plays, television shows and songs. Only a few years ago he'd found a young boy who called himself Bradley that resembled Arthur so closely, Merlin almost called him that when they met. He'd stirred things up enough with a popular television programing company to get a TV show started that show-cased his adventures with his friends. They'd changed many things and made it look much lighter and fluffier than it truly had been, but Merlin didn't mind. At least some truth was coming out.

Merlin took off his sunglasses, tucking them in his jacket with the drawing. He stared at the lake with his brilliant blue eyes, singing with every fiber of his being, the words laced with hidden magic. His eyes flashed gold, and a shudder passed through the air.

Rainbow ribbons of light danced along the surface of the lake. Flowers burst into bloom on the shore and the grass was greener. The magic coursed from Merlin, filling the air with light. The birds fell silent and the wind stopped, as if the Earth itself was watching Merlin with its breath caught in its throat.

The old warlock raised his hands at his sides like wings, white light winding around his arms in silken thread. In his spare time Merlin had figured out a new type of magic, a different way of controlling the elements and the forces of magic. It would give this lake even more beauty, making the plants healthier, clearing the pollution of the lake. The magic was extraordinary, perfecting and cleansing.

Through the ages, humans had lost the ability of performing magic. Well, normal humans. There was still an enormous group of witches and wizards, but they lived in hiding, and their magic was different from Merlin's. He could still perform it but it often felt odd, holding a wand. There was also the type of ancient magic that had been around long before Merlin. Monsters and demons still roamed, and you could still summon them and make deals and bargains, although Merlin had never tried. He'd met a few demons, and had never liked a single one. They were cruel, vicious creatures.

The longer Merlin spent on this planet, the more he knew. He discovered gods of a religion older than the Old Religion of his own time. Humans often thought they had discovered everything worth knowing about the hunk of rock they lived on, but they could never have been more wrong. Merlin had thought he was the only one with a great destiny but there were people across the globe with their own prophecies, their own demons and angels, their own destinies. It was a disastrous jumble of culture and a crazy mix of apocalyptic predictions.

But the world just kept on turning, despite it all. Someone always seemed to step forward and save the innocent and ignorant. It was amazing to watch. So many times, Merlin had almost thrown himself into the fray and revealed who he was to save the world, but every single time someone else had stepped forward and taken on their destiny with open arms. Or, in the case of two boys, had completely turned away from their futures with a simple: "No".

And they were certainly not the only ones. So many had completely rewritten the destinies of the world without a thought, had changed everything, had altered Fate.

Merlin wished he had been one of them.

"Your destiny is different," he would always tell himself. "It must come to pass in this way. There is no way to go back and change it now. Don't be bitter. Be vigilant. He will return."

The song ended, a new one popping up, his iPod on shuffle. Merlin couldn't help but smile as this one played, too. He remembered meeting the young lead singer of the band. They'd talked for three hours at a pub, and when this hit song had been released, Merlin had a feeling it was partly meant for him.

"_I will wait, I will wait for you!_"

Merlin closed his eyes, forgetting the world, all his worries, only allowing himself to think of Arthur, his best friend, the Once and Future King. He saw every detail, heard his voice in his mind, felt his arms around Merlin, his happiness that infected the serving boy like the flu. He could smell the soap he used on Arthur's tunic, the sharp tang of his metal armor. He felt his calloused hands and the solid beating of the king's heart on his finger tips. He heard his laughter and his jokes.

_Just-just hold me._

The words were so clear it was as though they had just been spoken. Tears began to flow from Merlin's eyes, the pain in his chest like a white-hot dagger.

It all seemed so real, Merlin paused his spell work, reaching out in front of him, as though to touch Arthur's face, his heart clinging to the vain hope that Arthur would always be there, like he always had been. He knew he was only going to get air, but he didn't care. He had to try.

His long fingers moved slowly, almost scared of what they might find. Merlin still had his eyes scrunched shut, capturing every detail of his friend, as though seeing him could make him return, make him real.

Merlin's heart froze as his finger tip brushed skin. Skin that wasn't his. Skin that he hadn't felt in centuries.

His eyes flashed open, locking onto a pair of familiar eyes the color of a summer sky. A calloused hand brushed his cheek, wiping away his tears, the smell of metal sharp in the morning air.

"Hello, Merlin."


End file.
